


You Shouldn't Love a Man Like Me

by Anonymous



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bratty Reader, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotionally Vulnerable Carrillo, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Smut, Soft Daddy Carrillo, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23136106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Horacio Carrillo is a man driven by his mission. But he fears becoming just as bad as the man he chases. When his lover disobeys his orders and witnesses his actions on the helicopter, he's left feeling broken and vulnerable. He seeks comfort in her strength and devotion.Though the reader delights in her lover's command in the bedroom, she can't seem to stop disobeying his orders at work. This tends to lead to trouble--particularly when she finds herself trailing behind him in the middle of a firefight.All either of them wants is to keep the other safe long enough to survive this nightmarish war.
Relationships: Horacio Carrillo/Reader, Horacio Carrillo/You
Kudos: 56
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In the context of anything I ever write about Carrillo...he DOESN'T DIE! You're welcome.  
> Thanks so much for reading and comments and kudos are life-giving!!!

One second the kid with the split lip is sitting across from you, staring with dead-eyed defiance back at Colonel Carrillo. The next he’s…gone. Carrillo’s sudden, casual violence is so shocking you’re left rigid and clutching the edge of your seat with white knuckles. 

“Shit!” you shout, shaking your head and locking eyes with Murphy. He looks just as stunned as you feel but he keeps his mouth shut. _Fuck_. This is the boys’ club you’ve been trying to break into?

You lean back in your seat with your hand over your heart, panting and trying to catch your breath. You can’t help it. You turn your head and catch your lover’s eyes. _Horacio_. The man whose strong arms make you feel safe at night, even when gunshots ring out in the distance and innocent people are kidnapped off the street. The man who kisses so tenderly and touches you with the gentlest hands. _Your Horacio_ …the man you thought you knew.

He’s looking back at you with shuttered eyes and his mouth set in a grim line. You know what he sees. Chest heaving, eyes glassy with shocked tears…too soft, too emotional for the job. You’ve heard it before and maybe… _God, maybe he’s right_. Whatever he sees he can’t bare to face it for long. He turns away from you for the rest of the flight.

One by one you relax your fingers from their death grip on the seat as you assert control back over yourself. Carrillo had been angry when you’d forced yourself on board at the last moment. He wanted you to stay back with Peña. Murphy wanted you to stay back, too. All three of them are constantly trying to shield you from the realities of your own job. As if you hadn’t completed the same training as Steve and Javi. As if you aren’t a grown woman capable of taking care of yourself. Is this what they’ve been shielding from you? The fact that the man you love is capable of such casual cruelty?

Your hands are shaking. You lay your palms flat on your thighs and stare straight ahead. Breath in. Breath out.

***

It’s nine o’clock and Horacio’s still shut away in his office. He’s poring over documents at his desk, his down-turned face lit by the warm glow of the desk lamp. Steve and Javi left an hour ago.

“Baby,” you murmur from the doorway, leaning your weight to one side and letting your head tilt onto your shoulder, “it’s late. Let’s go home.”

He barely glances up at you as he responds, “You go. I have more work to finish here.”

You can still taste the sour echo of your earlier panic and shock, but you’ve had hours to adjust. Right now you want your man. Yes, the same man you watched push another out of a helicopter earlier today. You don’t care. He’s yours. You need him to touch you and hold you and remind you that there’s still gentleness in the world.

But you don’t have the courage to put all of that into words so instead you simply say, “ _Please_ , Horacio.”

He finally looks up at you and he must see your need and anxiety written on your face because he pushes back from the desk and motions for you to come to him. You walk over, stopping just in front of him and hovering outside his personal space. You reach out a hand and lay it on his shoulder, unusually tentative. It was Horacio who taught you to be free with your touch, your affection…it pains him to see the look of uncertainty on your face. Like you don’t know where you stand with him anymore.

“ _Mi amor_ ,” he whispers and wraps his muscular arms around your middle, pulling you onto his lap. 

He buries his face in your chest, breathing in the scent of you and tightening his arms around your waist. You run your hands through his soft hair and dip forward to lay kisses over the crown of his head. 

“Horacio, Horacio, my love. I love you _always,_ ” the words fall from your lips with your kisses. You know he needs them as much as he does this embrace. He needs to know you won’t turn your back on him. Even now. Even after what you’ve seen. 

When he hears the words and understands your meaning his shoulders start to shake and he presses his face harder against you as a silent sob wracks his body. 

“You shouldn’t,” he says. “You shouldn’t love a man like me.”

The words are small and brittle and you hate hearing them come from this strong, passionate, wonderful man.

“Hey,” you say, cupping his jaw in your hand and forcing him to look up at you. “Since when do I do what you tell me?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader takes Carrillo home and reminds him he's a good man worthy of love. Smut!

You lead him over the threshold by the hand. He follows silently, clinging to your fingers like a drowning man to a life line. You must make an interesting tableau. The tiny, fierce woman tugging the big, hulking man behind her. You walk into the bedroom, depositing him by the bed and reaching up to push down on his massive shoulders. He’s putty under your hands, folding fluidly into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress. He looks up at you, his face is open and his cheeks are still stained with tear tracks. He hasn’t said a word.

You stand before him, as you’ve done on so many other nights. Carrillo likes to make a show of inspecting you before he takes you to bed. His intimate persona mirrors the confident, domineering Colonel you know from work. He likes to be in charge, likes to grab you and mold you to his long, powerful frame, claiming you with every motion of your lovemaking. Only his soft kisses and whispered endearments belie the true difference. You cling to the gentle parts of him, loving that he shows them only to you. 

Tonight is different. He’s sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, hunched forward and staring up at you with a look of open awe and longing. You step forward until you’re standing between his legs and bring a shaking hand up to cup his cheek. 

“Tell me again,” he says and your heart squeezes as a tear escapes the corner of his eye. You move quickly to swipe it away with your thumb. 

“What do you want me to tell you, Horacio?” you whisper, leaning down and laying kisses along his hairline, his eyebrows, the ridge of his nose. How you love to worship this man.

He takes a long shuddering breath and closes his eyes, “Tell me you love me.”

You feel your heart break at his words. _Oh, sweet baby_. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable. The fierce protectiveness that swells within you is overwhelming.

“Horacio,” you say, finally leaning down to kiss his lips. The kiss is slow, tentative. Your lips brush over his, you dart your tongue out and he parts his lips for you. Slow, languid strokes of your tongue over his. Finally you break free, panting and leaning your forehead against his, “I love you, _mi amor._ I love you so much sometimes it scares me. Nothing will ever change that.”

You’re both reeling from the intensity of the kiss, your breath mingling, lips only millimeters apart. He leans forward and catches your bottom lip between his teeth, giving a playful tug that’s reminiscent of his usual commanding role in the bedroom. But he backs off again and replies, “I don’t _deserve_ you, Y/N… I’m not a good man.”

You let out a huff of disagreement and begin carding your fingers through his hair. You adore his beautiful, close-cropped hair. He makes fun of you for your obsession but there’s something about the feel of his soft, glossy locks between your fingers that you can’t get enough of. He shuts his eyes and lets out a purr of contentment as you drag your fingernails across his scalp. 

“Well,” you murmur, kicking off your heavy boots and climbing up onto his lap until you’re straddling his hips with your ass wedged snugly against his crotch. _Now this is familiar territory_ , “it doesn’t matter if you think you deserve me or not, darling. Because you have me. I’m yours. And there’s nothing you can do to get rid of me…sorry about that!”

Your snark finally seems to cause a crack in his defenses because his lips curl up in an amused smirk and he swats your ass playfully with his open palm. You let out a surprised yelp at the stinging little hurt and he rubs his hands over you, taking away the pain and leaving a trail of fire instead. 

It’s embarrassing how quickly he can take you apart. With very little effort he has you moaning and grinding your hips against him. All thought of existential angst flies from your head as you seek the friction you desperately want, hindered by layers of clothing. Carrillo catches hold of your hips and squeezes his fingers in a warning. You stop your movements immediately and look up at him, your eyes dark with lust. He stares back with that stern commanding officer look on his face and you whine in frustration. 

“Carrillo, please! You need this as much as I do!”

He smiles at your words, recognizing the truth in them, but he’s already enticed by the game. He leans forward and brushes his lips against your earlobe as he responds, “You want this, little girl, hmm?”

He grinds his obvious erection into your ass and you whimper in need, “Yes, baby, please!”

He lets go of your hips and starts undoing the buttons of your blouse. You follow suit, your fingers tremble as you tug his shirt out from his trousers. All the while he’s hissing at you under his breath, “You didn’t listen to me today did you, _mi amor_?”

You shake your head frantically as you shove the shirt off his shoulders and start working on his belt buckle, “No, no, Horacio, I didn’t.”

He tosses your shirt to the floor and drags his fingertips across your collar bones and down over the tops of your breasts, teasing under the edge of your bra. In a sudden, rough motion he drags the fabric down to reveal your breasts. He cups them in his hands, running his thumbs over the dark tips of your nipples until they pebble under his calloused skin. He’s gentle at first, reverent. Then he locks eyes with you and you see the menacing gleam a second before the slap falls on your sensitive flesh. It _hurts_.

“Ouch, baby! That really hurt!,” you admonish him, breaking out of the haze of lust.

Carrillo, to his credit, looks immediately remorseful, “ _Lo siento, mi amor._ I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

He leans forward and takes your nipple in his mouth, laving it with his tongue, sucking and kissing until you’re once again arching into his touch and moaning with abandon. _How does he do that_?

When he’s successfully bent you back to his will he pulls away and takes your face between his large hands, forcing you to meet his gaze, “But I’m serious, Y/N. You disobeyed my orders today. I…I didn’t exclude you because I think you’re not strong and smart and capable and wonderful. I did it to protect you, _mi amor_. From…from me.”

The words float slowly through your sex addled mind. You’re nuzzling your face into the palm of Carrillo’s hand and squirming in his lap. He can do anything to you, you realize, as long as he keeps loving you, keeps letting you in.

“Horacio,” you say, making an effort to respond, “I don’t want to be protected from you, baby. Never from you. Please. I need you.”

You try leaning in for another kiss but he holds you back by your shoulders, “There are sides of me that I don’t want you to see. If you see too much you’ll…I know you’ll look at me differently. I’m becoming just like them, Y/N. _Just like him_.”

He lets go of your shoulders and hangs his head. He can’t stand to look at your lovely face when he knows how despicable he must be to you. Maybe you haven’t realized it yet. But how can you not…eventually? He just wants to keep this… _you_ …separate from the war. He wants to keep this sacred.

“My love,” you whisper, leaning down so that you’re peeking up into his eyes from below his hanging head. “You will never be like him. You understand? _Nunca_.”

And then you’re leaning into him and tackling him onto the bedspread, lips attacking his mouth in a hungry, frantic kiss. You lie half on top of him, your hands squished between you as you struggle to unfasten his belt and trousers. He finally brushes your hands away and does it himself. You take the opportunity to get rid of your bra and pants. 

“ _Show me,_ Horacio,” you whisper into his ear as you lie down beside him. “Show me who you really are.”

He wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you flush to his chest. You shiver and delight in the feel of your hard nipples rubbing against his naked skin. You feel the poke of his rigid cock pressing into your belly as he kisses you again. It’s your favorite kiss–soft, gentle, almost chaste until his sinful tongue flicks out and plunges into your mouth. 

His hands run down your back, fingertips lightly grazing over your flushed skin and sneaking under the waistband of your panties. He kneads your buttocks with one hand as the other migrates to the front, teasing into your curls and just dancing around the edge of where you ache the most. You whimper into his lips. Whining out his name and bucking your hips to get him to touch you there. His lips curl into a grin against yours and then– _God, yes_ –his middle and index finger plunge down and brush over the sensitive bundle of nerves, scraping, rubbing and gliding in perfect strokes until you’re desperate and _so close._

You whip your hand down to his wrist to stop him before he brings you over the edge, “Horacio! I need you inside me now.”

He grins down at you and presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before crawling over you and positioning himself between your wantonly spread legs. He looks you over, savoring the sight of his strong lover turned pliant and needy with his touch. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he says and his face is so earnest you feel tears in your eyes.

“I love you, too.”

He presses against your entrance and then he’s pushing forward with a long, slow, powerful stroke. You sigh in pleasure. The feel of him inside you is so _right_. Like you’re both where you belong. He wraps his hands around your calves and presses back until your legs are angled the way he knows you like it. You reach up a hand and draw it through his hair and down his neck, settling it against this shoulder as he starts moving, setting a slow rhythm to start.

“Uhhh, you feel so good inside me, baby,” you pant, pulling on his shoulder to get him to bend forward and kiss you. He obliges. He knows you need these gentle reassurances when he’s inside you like this. That it’s not just a game for him, that it’s not just about fucking. He kisses your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids, trying to imbue his lips with the sanctity of his love for you. Here, at least, he can be the man he wants for you.

You put a hand to the back of his neck, holding him to your cheek as he rocks his hips, thrusting harder and faster. He’s starting to lose the thread of himself in the passion. He murmurs against your neck, “Yeah, baby. Ugh, you’re so tight for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” you cry, locking her feet together at his back and pressing yourself as close as you can. You can feel the smack of his skin against your clit with every thrust but the sensation is so elusive it’s maddening. “Horacio, _please!_ ”

He knows what you need. He snakes his arm between your sweat soaked bodies and down to your clit, flicking his fingers over you until you’re crying into his shoulder as the orgasm quakes through your body. Your thighs clench around his hips and he grabs them in a bruising grip as he ramps up his pace, thrusting into you frantically as he chases his own finish.

***

You feel like jelly laying there in his arms afterward. It’s not just the tiredness of being thoroughly loved by your man. You’re wrung out from the emotions you both confronted tonight. And yet you still feel something hanging unresolved in the night air around you. You turn in his arms until you’re facing his chest, tracing patterns over his skin as you ponder how to put your feelings into words.

“Baby…,” you start, “I’m never going to stop loving you, _okay?_ ”

You crane your neck to look up at him, watching his soft gaze warm as his lips slowly spread in a smile. He may not think he deserves your love, but he knows better than to argue with you, “Okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader once again disobeys orders, inserting herself into the raid on Escobar's hideout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's violence here and the reader gets hurt. Thanks so much for reading!

You hold your hand up to shade your eyes from the glare of the midday sun. Steve stands next to you, leaning casually against the cafe’s sidewalk bar and sipping coffee from a ceramic cup. He’s different lately, since the visit from Connie. More grounded. You hope it lasts. You’re watching Carrillo as he packs up his SUV. His broad shoulders strain against the material of his uniform shirt, his tan, muscular arms flex as he loads equipment into the back. On another day you might be able to enjoy the view. But today all you see is the way he carries himself like a spring wound too tight, ready to burst. His mouth is set in a grim frown and his brows are pinched together with stress. _God–he needed this to be a win so badly._

Honestly, you did too. Not because you have a vendetta against Escobar that transcends into an almost spiritual mission, like Carrillo does. But because you need this damn war to be over. You need Escobar dead so that Horacio– _your love_ –can finally be safe. You pushed yourself today, shadowing Carillo and Murphy as they moved through the building, refusing to let your lover out of your sight. You can’t…you can’t bear the thought of watching him march into a firefight while you hang back and coordinate another damn barricade. And it’s not because you’ve got anything to prove. As much as you bluster and try to keep up with the guys you know as well as everyone else does that your strength is in intelligence work and managing informants. That’s okay with you. You _like_ that part of the job. Riding off, guns blazing on raids? That was all Steve and Javi…and Horacio. 

But ever since the night of the ambush–when you’d stayed back and monitored the mission on the radio while your lover and his men were surrounded–you haven’t been able to let go. You know he’s angry with you for inserting yourself into danger today, but you can’t bring yourself to care too much. You just need him to be safe.

You walk up behind him as he finishes loading the last of the gear. You’re reaching out a hand to rub his back when the call comes in. They found him. They _really_ found him this time. 

Everyone is moving, jumping into vehicles and screeching out onto the road. Carrillo turns to look at you over his shoulder for a moment and his eyes are lit up with excitement even as he sets his face into the fierce mask of command.

“Y/N, you’re staying here!” he barks before jumping in the driver’s seat and taking off, leaving you standing there, red-faced and furious.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and Murphy leans his face in next to yours whispering conspiratorially, “Let’s go, girl!”

Your mouth splits into a wide grin and you both jump into the nearest truck as it pulls out onto the road.

***

By the time Carrillo realizes you’ve once again disobeyed his orders and inserted yourself into the vanguard assault team along with him, it’s too late. He glares at you from the other side of the front door as the men smash the battering ram against it. Immediately the sound of gunshots from inside erupts and bullets whiz through the air around you. _Jesus_ , you and Murphy haven’t even had time to put on your bullet-proof vests. You duck, clutching your pistol in one hand and raising the other to cover your ears. Carrillo crouches across from you and tries one more time to wave you away before the door comes down and everyone is rushing inside. 

It’s chaos. Bodies press together to squeeze through the doorway and then you’re scrambling for cover as gunfire rains down. You find yourself kneeling behind an overturned dresser in between Murphy and Carrillo. Both tall men are just barely able to fit behind it with you squished in the middle. You feel Horacio’s firm hand pressing into your back and holding you down as he pops up to return fire. You should want to struggle away from him and join in the exchange of bullets. You should want to assert yourself against his authority. But in truth you’re thankful to him for watching out for you. This isn’t your specialty and you don’t want to cause problems for the team. You just need to be near him. To see him safely through this nightmare.

The warm reassurance of his hand leaves your back and you look up in time to watch he and Murphy spring up to chase the two fugitives up the stairs. Another police officer falls in a spray of bullets and your heart leaps into your throat. They’re already halfway up the stairs. You jump up and trail after them, taking the steps two at a time to make up for your short legs. At the top of the stairs, you sprint down the hallway and hop out the open window onto the rooftop. 

You’re completely exposed out here. It’s just you, Horacio, Murphy and a couple of cops. Escobar is jogging away and throwing shots at you every few steps. You slow your pace, ducking and dodging as bullets ping off the metal and clay roof tiles. Murphy and Carrillo are leading the chase. They’re going to get him. There’s no way out for Escobar this time. You stop, hanging back and watching your lover as he finally nears the end of this years long quest. You’re sweating, bent over and breathing heavily with exertion, but you smile to see your man finally– _finally_ completing his life’s work.

You don’t even feel it when the bullet hits you. One second you’re on your feet, eyes locked on Horacio as he sprints after his quarry, the next you’re flat on your back, head snapping backwards and cracking against a roof tile. For a second you think you’ve just had the wind knocked out of you, forgetting that you aren’t wearing your vest. You lay there staring up into the crystal blue sky and wait for your lungs to expand. They don’t. When you finally get your breath back it’s rapid and shallow. And there’s a sharp pain blossoming in your chest. You taste bile and something coppery as panic starts to set in. _No, please. You’re so close._

Clouds drift overhead and a bird crosses your field of vision. It’s _strange_ –how can the world keep going when such monumental events are playing out on the ground?

You hear your name being called. It sounds choked, desperate, and terribly far away.

***

The bullet flies wide of Carrillo and he doesn’t give it another thought, leaping forward to lengthen his strides as he closes in. Murphy is right behind him. This is it. This is finally it. The people of Columbia will rest easy knowing this madman has been brought to justice. He feels a swell of pride at the thought that it will be his hands putting this bastard in cuffs. 

Carrillo’s senses are laser focused on his prey. So, why does he suddenly jolt to a stop when he hears the sound of a body hitting the tiles behind him? He turns his head, glancing over his shoulder to check who’s gone down. 

It feels like a cold hand reaches into his chest and closes around his heart. _No, mi amor_! You’re lying prone on the rooftop, unmoving…alone. Murphy and the other men continue their pursuit, speeding past him and after the goal he’s fought for. Carrillo curses under his breath, casting his eyes back towards the chase and watching Murphy take the lead. It’s no choice at all, really.

He turns from them, from Escobar, from the crusade he’s waged for the last three years. His gun falls from his grip as he collapses to his knees at your side. He looks down at you, hands hovering over your blood soaked t-shirt. Your breath stutters in your chest and specks of blood splash onto your lips as you try to speak, “Hh…racio.”

You try to take one of his hands but miss. He leans over you and his face fills your vision, tears falling freely from his beautiful eyes. _Yes,_ you think, _let this be the last thing I see._

“Don’t–don’t speak, _mi amor_. You’re gonna be okay. Just save your strength, okay?”

He’s lifting your shirt and running his fingers over your torso searching for the wound, his hands quickly become soaked in your blood. When he finds the entry wound on the right side of your chest he presses down with all his strength and you let out a cough that sprays blood all over his arms. 

_Tell me again,_ you think as your vision starts to go dark around the edges, _tell me you love me._

***

The first thing you see when you wake up is a giant, cheerful teddy bear perched on your bedside with a note pinned to it reading, “ _Love, Javi and Steve_.” The idea of one of them picking this out, buying it and carrying it in here is so hilarious that you start to laugh before the monstrous ache in your chest brings you up short and the laugh turns into a pained moan. 

Carrillo is at your side in an instant, “Shhh, my love. Thank God, how do you feel?”

He takes both of your hands in his and brings them to his lips, pressing urgent kisses into your fingers. You’ve never seen him look so tired. And you’ve seen him after a 24 hour stake out. His eyes are puffy, his hair is uncombed and sticking up on one side as if he fell asleep leaning against a wall or something. He’s looking at you like you might break apart at any moment.

“I feel…” you start and then pause trying to figure out how you feel. “I hurt. A lot.”

Horacio laughs at that. He leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek in the lightest of kisses.

“Yeah, well…you got shot, _mi amor_ ,” he says and you imagine you hear the edge of disappointment in his voice. You just wanted to keep him safe and instead you’ve messed everything up. _Why can’t you ever just do as he tells you?_

You lips tremble and your voice comes out thick with tears, “I’m sorry, Horacio. I’m sorry, I–I–”

You start to cry and immediately you feel the wound in your chest ignite with pain. You yelp in pain and gingerly clutch your hand over the bandage that wraps your chest.

Horacio looks aghast. He’s wiping your tears away and begging you, “Don’t cry, my love, please! I’m not angry. I was so, so scared I’d lost you. Please, be still, Y/N, you’re wounded.”

You cling to the gentleness and truth in his words, wrapping your hands around his wrists to keep his hands cupping your cheeks. You love the feel of his palms on your skin. Nothing in this world makes you feel safer than Horacio’s touch. When you’ve had a moment to steady your breathing and you feel more solid, you finally ask the question.

“Horacio, did we get him?”

His face is relaxed, calm, serious as he regards you. He nods, “Yeah…we got him.”

Tears slip free once more and you’re overwhelmed with relief. Your smile feels like it might split your face in two, but you don’t care. It’s over. It’s finally over. You can finally _be_ with Horacio and not have to worry if he’ll be kidnapped or shot or tortured the next time he leaves your side. _Finally._

He’s looking back at you with that same serious look on his face and you feel your happiness waver as doubt shadows your heart. 

“My love,” you whisper, reaching out to cup his cheek. He nuzzles his face against your hand and you feel a little more certain. “Are you happy?”

He turns his head and brushes a kiss against your palm, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and holding it lightly in his grip as if he fears you might float away if he doesn’t keep a hold of you.

He hates the doubt in your voice and attempts a smile to reassure you as he responds, “I am the happiest man alive because of you, _mi amor._ Pablo Escobar…catching him, stopping him…that man has no control over my happiness. Only you do, Y/N. _Only you_.”

You let out a sob of happiness, content to withstand the stab of pain in your chest as you reach out both arms and force him to bend over the bed and wrap you in a tender, loose hug. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and inhale his clean, masculine scent. Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and you decide, then and there, that you’re never going to let go of this man again.

“I love you, Horacio,” you whisper into his ear. 

He turns his face a little so that his stubble scratches deliciously against your cheek, “I love you, my disobedient little girl.”

He pulls back a little so he can look into your eyes. His lips curve in a smile and he looks, for the first time since you’ve known him, happy and carefree.

“Marry me, Y/N.”

The words fall from his lips in the playful, dominant tone he reserves for you alone. And the way he says them, a command rather than a question, sends a shiver down your spine.

This is one order you intend to obey.


End file.
